A Tragic Kind of Wonderful

“I don’t have a bike.”

“Borrow one,” Annie says, as if this were obvious. “You have sisters or brothers?”

I shake my head.

“God, you’re lucky.”

Connor glances up briefly at Zumi and smirks.

Zumi nods slightly. Then she casually says to Annie, “What about your old bike?”

“No, I gave it to Lulu.”

“Your mom just got her a new one,” Zumi says. “Let’s ask her—”

“No, it’s … it’s got a flat tire. We can just walk to the beach; it’s fine. I guess you’re closest, Mel. We’ll meet at your place.”

If we end up doing this a lot, they’ll probably see Nolan’s bike at some point …

“Well, there is a bike in my garage,” I say. “It’s … my cousin’s. But it’s too big.”

“Oh, that’s no problem!” Annie says, brightening. “Zumi’s brother taught her all about bikes. You’re, what, five-seven, five-eight? Probably just need to lower the seat, right, Zumi?”

“I don’t know without seeing it,” Zumi says to Annie. “But I know I can fix the flat on your old bike.”

Connor’s shoulders bounce. He’s looking at his lasagna, picking at it. I think he’s snickering.

“No,” Annie says, annoyed. “It’s not—” She stops and looks pointedly at Connor. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. Zumi leans toward me and says in a low voice, “Lulu’s only eleven and Annie’s afraid of her.”

“I am not,” Annie says, more indignant than defensive.

“Okay,” Zumi says. “It’s just that Annie can’t stop Lulu from following her everywhere, so she has to sneak out of the house. She can’t do that if we all go over there.”

Annie just stares at Zumi like she’s waiting for her to finish.

“I can try and adjust your cousin’s bike,” Zumi says. “Do you want me to?”

I nod.

“Okay, I’ll come over before the weekend, in case it takes a while.”

“Thanks.”

Zumi points a thumb toward Annie and says to me, “But don’t you think sneaking around means you’re afraid of something?”

I don’t think she’s really needling Annie; it seems more like affectionate teasing. Annie stares over our heads, looking perturbed.

When I don’t answer, Zumi adds, “Maybe just a little?”

Connor laughs.

Annie says, “You be quiet!”

Zumi busts up laughing and I join her.

Team Fernandez walks by, carrying trays back to the kitchen. We instantly stop laughing. Annie coolly eats a bite of lasagna while Connor wrestles with the lid of his juice. Zumi scowls, her head pivoting to keep them in her glare as they walk by, like she’s a tracking cannon. The instant they’re gone, Zumi giggles, throws her arm around my shoulders, and leans into me hard.

I’m in.

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HAMSTER IS ACTIVE

HUMMINGBIRD IS FLYING

HAMMERHEAD IS CRUISING

HANNIGANIMAL IS UP!

I’m still in a good mood despite that weird conversation with Connor yesterday. Two days in a row is some kind of record, at least recently. Maybe because it’s Friday, and I have almost no homework, and the sun finally came out … but no, I know better. My ups and downs have minds of their own.

I ride after school along the beach trail, pumping the pedals, outpacing the lumbering zombies I imagine chasing me on my way to work. They’ll never catch me. Not as long as I have Nolan’s bike.

Parked in front of the Silver Sands Suites is a small rental van. Maybe someone’s moving in. I head inside. Five minutes later I’ve locked my stuff in a cabinet by the sink, put on clean scrubs, pinned on my name tag, and washed my face and hands thoroughly.

I check the mirror. Despite vigorous scrubbing, I’m still dotted with freckles. My aunt Joan and I have a long-standing bet that I’ll outgrow them. She thinks they’re temporary because I have slightly lower density plus brown hair and blue eyes, but I’m less than a month from my seventeenth birthday. As much as I wish she were right, I think I’m going to win this bet … damn it.

In the kitchen I fill a glass of orange juice halfway. I hold it behind my back as I enter the Sun Room. Ms. Arguello is alone here and calls to me, “Excuse me, miss?”

She’s in the paisley wingback chair by the south window, knitting a heavy scarf, like every day of the two years I’ve worked here.

“How’s your first day going?” she asks.

“Very well, Ms. Arguello, thank you.”

“Oh! You know my name already. How nice, Miss …”

I stoop to bring my name tag closer to her.

“Mel Hannigan?” She laughs. “Was that on your shirt when they gave it to you? Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get your own soon!”

I smile. “No, that’s my name.”

She looks at me askance, playfully suspicious. “Is it short for Melissa?” I shake my head. “Melinda?”

“Nope, just Mel. What can I do for you?”